


two-way streets

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: ? - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Memory Alteration, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, could be read as platonic or romantic, it hasn’t even been 24 hours & I’m already sick of this sitting in my drafts, kinda rushed, semi-vent, so I’m just gonna publish it, wrote the bulk of this when it was four am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 01:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists, and Kyouko can’t help but wonder about them.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko & Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 3
Kudos: 113





	two-way streets

There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists.

She doesn’t think he meant to show her, didn’t mean for her to see. But she does, quite simply; his jacket (the jacket he _never takes off-_ ) slips, just a bit, and she can see the edges. Such a small, seemingly inconsequential action, and she knows, now. And what is she supposed to do with that?

It is hardly the time to bring it up, she knows; she has tact, if only some. Sayaka is dead on his bathroom floor, and they are busy trying to catch her killer. It is not appropriate; they do not have time.

And before now, Kyouko had only ever talked to him twice; hardly the type you confide heavy secrets in.

There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists.

She doesn’t know what to do with it, so she puts it out of her mind.

* * *

There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists.

She forgets about it. Well, not really. You can’t forget something like that, especially not someone like her, storing away information in her brain to pull out at a later date, to make a picture out of a puzzle.

So. When she says she forgets about it, she means she wills herself to. It doesn’t matter; it’s shouldn't matter, especially not in this killing game.

Kyouko can’t get close to him, anyways.

( _And why was that, again? Why did it feel like she was forgetting something—_ )

But.

There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists.

“What’s your secret, Makoto?” 

Laughing, he hides his letter from view, and lies straight to her face.

* * *

He gravitates towards her. She doesn’t know why. 

Murders pile up; six left.

* * *

~~(There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists, and Sakura’s death is a suicide.)~~

~~(Five left.)~~

* * *

When she finds her fathers skull, he is there. When she spins a tale of him leaving, he is listening. When she smiles tentative and hopeful, the smile he smiles back is _blinding_.

When did this happen? This warm glow, this tender feeling. When did this happen?

(But there are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists, her mind reminds, and she has learned that love is dangerous.)

* * *

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Is that her heart, or the press?

(Why did he trust her? Why didn’t he call her out? _Why are there scars on his arm?_ )

* * *

Junko is laughing. “For someone like you to be so hopeful... isn’t it ironic?”

Makoto flinches, and junko tries to say it, tries to expose it—

“That’s enough,” Kyoukos voice is firm, “If you’re not going to say anything useful, don’t say it at all.”

Makoto looks grateful, smile blooming in thanks, and her own lips quirk up. 

(She was worried she’d lose that smile forever, she realizes.)

They take down Junko together.

* * *

(Here’s the thing:

Kyouko has scars, too.

They span her whole hand, cover it in wrinkles and stretched out skin, all purple and red and _ugly_. Makoto doesn’t ask about them, even after he discovers, doesn’t ask to see or gawk. She appreciates that. The topic of where she’s got them never comes up with him, and he accepts their presence on her hand, as if they’re just another part of her.

He must have questions, she knows. She sees it in the way his gaze lingers, if only slightly, on the scarred skin when she shows him it. He has questions, all the standard, typical ones she has long since grown tired of hearing.

Makoto never asks any of it.

He only ever takes her hand, gloved or otherwise, when she holds it out to him.)

* * *

~~(He’s the only one she let hold them, without that leather between, and she thinks that one day, she may answer those questions.)~~

~~(He let’s her fingers trace his scars when the world remains unaware.)~~

* * *

There are faded out scars on Makoto’s wrists.

She doesn’t ask about it.

Instead, she takes off her glove, and places her own scarred hand in his, hoping to become someone worthy of his trust.

(She can wait until he’s ready to talk. She’ll be here, after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hate the savior complex people have a lot of time when ppl see self harm scars, they feel like they have a right to your story or recovery - it should always be your choice how much you tell someone, and how much of a role they have. Especially when it’s scars vs active self harm, too. 
> 
> Being there for someone is different than taking away their control, and a lot of times, control is the whole reason people start self harming; it’s something they do, their choice, when they feel they have none. So taking away even more of their freedom? That just makes it worse, makes their need for that control worse. And it doesn’t solve the issue of them _wanting_ to hurt themselves in the first place. The goal shouldn’t _just_ be “stop self harming”, the goal should be “get to a place where I don’t feel the need to self harm, because I am in a better mindset, and stop” 
> 
> Self harm is a symptom of depression, not the cause. It can feed into each other and make things worse, but it’s not the root.
> 
> You can’t walk someones path for them; you can only be there to help carry the luggage.


End file.
